#i had to learn to draw roses for this one | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

mslanna · 3 days

Note

Maybe something about Raphael reacting to Haarlep reading through his diary/journal (this is why you give your incubus enrichment, folks!) and the incubus pointing out the frequency a certain 'little mouse' seems to be appearing as the subject in his writings? Heck, maybe Haarlep even tries to convince Raphael to let them obtain Tav's form so that the cambion can indulge in his little mouse whenever he wants.

What is says on the bos sfw kinda Read it on AO3

Depleted

"How often did I tell you not to do this?" Raphael plucked his diary from Haarlep's hand.

"As often as you caught me," his personal incubus replied. "Which is way not as often as I did it."

They leant back lasciviously, presenting a world of possibilities their master. As usual, Raphael barely noticed. The cambion was more concerned with the content of his diaries. Well, at least this time Haarlep had refrained from drawing naughty sketches into it.

"You really shouldn't leave them lying about like that. It's clearly an invitation." Not that Raphael would notice an invitation if he saw one. Haarlep dialled back the preening and offering. Such a spoilsport and killjoy.

"It was locked away in my desk," Raphael admonished.

"Yes, exactly where I know it will be," Haarlep purred. "That is not even trying to keep me away."

"I also told you not to touch it." The cambion's voice turned hard.

"You tell me that about so many things." Haarlep rose. He stepped behind his master, laid his chin on Raphael's shoulders and wrapped his arms around his middle. Their tail settled around his ankle, it's tip slipping up the trouser leg. "And yet, I touch everything. A lot."

Raphael slapped their hands away when they moved towards his crotch. Stuck-up snitch. What was this if not the prefect set-up for a little powerplay? If he'd chose more enjoyable sex, Raphael would, well, enjoy it more. Haarlep was sure of that. They were among the best.

"You like it," they purred into the cambion's ear. "And I know what you like best. If only you'd relax enough for an orgasm that's actually worth my services."

"Away," Raphael huffed. He did learn that a 'get off' had a very different effect on his incubus.

Still, Haarlep did not let go. "Are you pent up for a somebody special maybe? My little brat looking at another little thing scurrying through his life?" He nibbled at Raphael's ear. "I have seen them come up often in your diary. So, so often. Are we pining?"

"They are an investment, nothing more," Raphael replied gruff.

But even in the sharp rejection, Haarlep saw that they had hit a nerve. "Invested in them, are we? How nice. Do they know about your intentions? Beyond a deal?"

"There are no-" Raphael broke off because Haarlep bit him into the neck. Gently, but determined. In the moment of distraction, they sent their hands below his waist, circling over the inside of his thighs.

"Are you thinking of them now?" Haarlep purred. "Of their little mortal hands on your hot infernal skin? The earthy smell of the material plane and its deaths. What sweet words do you want to hear? Or do you prefer sounds of devout supplication? You can have all of it. Right now."

"You are not Tav." Raphael jerked free of their embrace. "Nothing you offer is close-"

"Ha! I knew it. I always do." Haarlep clapped. "How delightful. The high and mighty cambion has fallen for a stinky, mortal mousling! Are they close to falling into your trap? Will you bring them here to play?"

Raphael stayed silent. He thumbed through the diary, frowning at the sketches of dancing imps and almost suggestive flora.

"I can help you, you know?" Haarlep wound back around their master. "They don't seem too eager to deal with you. But I? I can get close, close enough to strip them of anything in your way to their heart. I can even take their form. Wouldn't that please you?"

Haarlep slipped their arms back around Raphael. "I can get them for you. Soft hands and mewling mouth and all. For you. Whenever you want. However you want. With the greatest enthusiasm. Think about it, my little brat. All the fun with none of the vulnerability."

Raphael didn't move. A good sign. He was considering it. Still, in the end, he pried them off and left the boudoir with a huff. But it was a start. A morsel to tempt the eternally uptight cambion into actual fun times.

Maybe they'd finally get something to do in this horrible place. Haarlep was used to being somebody else and despite the public displays, Raphael harboured little self-love. Pleasure was to be had efficiently, quickly, like any other business. The bloody idiot kept his lust pent up just to release it before he exploded. When there was so much more fun to be had.

But that little mouse cropping up in every other diary entry – Raphael hadn't been that obsessed since Hope. And she, well, she was a hopeless case.

Haarlep returned to the bed and pulled another of Raphael's diaries out from under a pillow. The cambion should really stop hiding them in place they were certain to find them. They'd see to it that they'd get that little mouse's form for their collection – one way or another. If only to scrounge an ounce of emotion out of Raphael for once.

#bg3 #bg3 raphael #raphael x haarlep #bg3 fanfiction #sleazy second-hand car dealer #anon answered #writing prompt #mel writes fanfic

42 notes · View notes

guessimwritingficsagain · 2 days

Text

Kintsugi (the golden roses will bloom prettily in the space between your ribs)

Summary : You'd met Joel a year ago. Then you learn he and Tess are gone from the Boston QZ.

Warnings : Mature content, MDNI, rape attempt (not from Joel, though), pining, ANGST.

Tags : Just ask.

———

You hear it first in the whispers around the QZ. You see it, then, in the way your associates Matthew avoids looking you in the eye. You walk to the apartment and it’s like there’s a ticking sound, the countdown of a bomb. You knock, once, twice. Wait. Repeat the motion. Once, twice. Wait.

There’s the sound of footsteps, then. Not familiar ones. And a voice that drawls :

‘You waistin’ your time, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear ? They gone.’

You don’t turn to look at the man. You get down the stairs and into the street.

———

The way you see it, there are two kinds of memories living in your mind : the ones you hold on to, and the ones that won’t go away.

What went down the day of the outbreak wakes you up at night. Ten years old, at school. The way little Timmy launched at Travis and bit him right in the throat.

You mother always said that as a woman it was better to be a rose disguised as a sunflower. Be pretty, hide your spikes, but always be ready to strike. Draw blood. She was dead when you got home that day.

Sometimes you think about that other memory. You have a lot of memories with Joel Miller, but there is one you hold on to. One that keeps you up at night, cunt and heart aching. The memory of fingers in your hair, as you’re not quite awake, on an old couch. It’s just that : fingers in your hair, scratching your scalp, and the heat of his thigh right next to your head. Fingers halting and warmth leaving right before the door opened and the voice of Tess announced ‘come on, we need to go’. Sometimes you think it was all a dream.

You met Tess before you met Joel. She’d trusted you to smuggle some pills for her when things almost went south. Almost, because you were, ever since you had to kill your pal Katie by repeatedly beating her skull with a chair, your arms heavy and aching with effort, a rose disguised as a sunflower. Things almost went south but you played the dumb little girl act - almost thirty years old, you were, but you’d learned that men would believe anything as long as that belief made them think they could advantage of you. You smuggled the pills, put a knife through the throat of a FEDRA soldier, and ended up at Tess’ place with a bloody nose and a top half ripped-off. Except it wasn’t Tess’ place only, and that’s when you met Joel Miller, almost a year before today, before you hear ‘You waistin’ your time, sweetheart. Didn’t you hear ? They gone.’.

Poetry lies in the cracks of things broken, except, at the end of the world, there is no sweet, gorgeous, shiny gold to mend what’s damaged. You’d read it in a book, once, became obsessed with it, too - Kintsugi. You’d wished you could do that - as a hobby. Wished you could take broken pottery and fix it with liquid gold. Wished you could take your heart, your ribs, your everything, and fix that too.

When you entered Tess’ place that day and met Joel Miller, he took one look at you as Tess muttered Christ, kid, you okay ?

You were not a kid. You were almost thirty and when you were ten you had killed your friend Katie with a chair, and then Travis, and then you had gone home to find the corpse of your mother and when the world hit you, you’d hit back but also you wanted to fix pottery with shiny gold and-

And Joel Miller grabbed your jaw, gentle but firm, and his other hand grabbed your arm, sat you down, and cleaned up your bloody nose.

That’s how you met Joel Miller. Tall, broad, manly. Precise, careful, in his movements, as Tess asked about what happened. And then Tess, to him

‘We can trust her, she’s basically a wallflower. Very useful if you want things to go quietly.’

Not a wallflower, a sunflower, you wanted to answer. I love beautiful things and I love the sun and I love when life shines. But a wallflower you were considered, and a wallflower you became. And neither Tess nor Joel took the time to see the sunflower behind the wallflower. Nor the rose with spikes hidden behind.

And Tess put a gentle hand on Joel Miller’s shoulder, squeezed as they looked at each other and you knew. You knew that grip on your jaw, that focused gaze on your face were all you were going to get. You were not one to fool yourself.

A wallflower you’d remain.

And Joel Miller’s name would be yours to say in the quiet of the night, fingers in your cunt, when the darkness makes the world outside disappear.

Not quite liquid gold fixing the breaks between your ribs, but enough.

———

They made sense, Joel and Tess. Tess was stern, face hardened by years of struggling - that made her beautiful in a way you would never be because you’d learned to hide that part of you. She was glorious. Determined, strong, assertive.

One day you stopped before knocking at her door because you heard-

You heard.

Even the way she moaned was beautiful.

So you turned back, found a guy, and brought him back home.

You woke up to a furious pounding on your door and watched Joel throw the guy out, pants barely covering his dick, shoes in his hands.

‘Where were you last night ? Why didn’t you show up ?’

You couldn’t exactly said that you’d shown up to hear Tess being fucked into the mattress so you settled with

‘I got distracted.’

His hand grabbed your jaw, his eyes intense.

‘Don’t. Don’t ever do that again. Ever.’

You could have said it, then. Could have said that he didn’t seem so worried when his cock was buried in Tess’ cunt. Couldn’t have been bothered to show up before the morning after. You said nothing.

A wallflower indeed.

And now-

Now.

Now it’s been two days since you felt Joel’s fingers in your hair, as you were sleeping in their apartment. Two days since he stopped and got up before Tess walked in and said ‘come on, we need to go’. Two days of whispers and glances and maybe after learning they were gone, knowing they left, maybe you got drunk, and maybe a FEDRA soldier put his hand where it didn’t belong and whispered in your ear :

‘They’re gone now, you’re all alone, little girl.’

And maybe you slit his throat. Maybe you slit his throat and then cut his dick off, for good mesure. Nobody would know for sure, because when they found the corpse in the morning, you were long gone.

And with you, you took nothing, except the bone-crushing knowledge that even at the end of the world, heartbreak is still what hurts the most - not killing Katie, not your dead mother, not the twenty years fighting for your life - and no amount of burning liquid gold will ever fix the empty space where your heart should be.

But maybe,

Maybe, you think, as you walk through green pastures on a way to a mythical place called Jackson, maybe, one can be a sunflower and a rose at the same time.

Maybe you’ll kill if you have to, and maybe, if Jackson is real, you’ll spend your time fixing pottery with- maybe not gold, but with yourself.

But as you approach the gates of Jackson, arms raised, slowly, saying

‘I don’t mean any harm.’

You make a promise to yourself.

And that promise is shaken to its core when the man in front of you - warm, familiar eyes - introduces himself as Tommy, Tommy Miller.

But you make a promise.

A sunflower.

A rose.

You’re gonna fix all the goddamn vases in this place.

The golden roses will bloom prettily in the space between your ribs, and you’ll let them be beautiful, and you’ll let them draw blood, too.

———

Taglist

@pedritobalmando @amidjarin @ajeff855 @justpedropascal @sara-alonso @sarahjkl82-blog @amidjarin @sara-alonso@justpedropasc@mrsbentallmadge @farfromjustordinary @hnt-escape @kirsteng42

#joel miller/reader #joel miller x reader

33 notes · View notes

artboxartist · 2 years

Photo

“Covered in scars // but roses are growing through the cracks”

#sonic frontiers #sonic #sonic the hedgehog #one ok rock #vandalize #sonic music #my art #sega #I absolutely adore this song #im here #vandalize my heart #i had to learn to draw roses for this one #sonic frontiers ost #sonic rangers #ost #vandalize sonic frontiers

278 notes · View notes

lokistahley · 1 month

Text

-"How long are you gonna stay with me?" - -"Forever."-

24 notes · View notes

rosetyphooon · 5 months

Text

my girlies

17 notes · View notes

janamensch · 2 months

Text

A drawing of my beloved OC Juliett that came to me in a dream (I had a dream that I was sketching this drawing so when I woke up I tried to actually draw it to see what would happen) and I like how it turned out!

#oc #my ocs #juliett #Don‘t ask me about the lore of this though I have no idea what AU this is #Based on the hair it seems like it would be from one of the Juliett revenge AUs but the black and gold outfit with the yellow roses??#the black and gold are her family colours so she‘s still associated with them which means it can‘t be a revenge au #So my interpretation of this drawing is that the big backstory event did not happen the way it usually happens so she stays with her family #but still became bitter about things hence the revenge au hairstyle #and in the end after rising up the ranks of her family’s organization she ends up at the bottom of the ocean. I guess.#What do we learn from that? Juliett should not stay with her family. Noted!#Anyway the process for this drawing was very interesting!#because it wasn’t really based on an idea I had but rather something just from my dream?#I know for this drawing my brain just mixed up Juliett and my Mermay Mire drawing and very minimal outfit inspiration from a show I watched #But can I really take credit for the idea?#anyway #i love dreaming my brain is so good and creative at coming up with fun stories. i just wish it were that creative when i was awake as well!

6 notes · View notes

raspberriesandstrawberries · 1 year

Photo

#1870s fashion #my art #what if I just don't title this one #I can't think of anything good so maybe I just #wont #drawing unhappy victorian couples seems to be becoming a tradition at this point #at least this one is more accurate than the 1880s one #this was just supposed to be chill and low effort and now look what's happened #I started this a month ago #it wasn't even gonna have colour #the carnations were originally roses too #but then I decided to incorporate some floriography and had to redo them as carnations #and then the carnations turned out way better than everything else and I had to go back and make improvements #its fine its cool #I will learn nothing from this

15 notes · View notes

bukuoshin · 11 months

Text

It just takes two years of "I'll do it later"-s before I finally do it. :3c

#rae rants #except for the base color and flooring tile i did everything today. i was supposed to have it done by xmas 2021... ehehe~#well. i want to start a new project. but i wanted to finish one first. so i ended up spending 7hrs or so doing this today.#also i learned my dollar store xacto works better than my actual honest to god xacto knives.#this is for my mom. she got like 7 birdhouses for xmas in 2020 and promptly handed them over for me to paint. this was the last one!#just need to weatherproof this and the other one in the garage (didnt go right the first time) and im all done yayyy #... with that project for her. i have one more to finish but i cant draw roses so i have to find stencils. but thats all there.#and then. i can start making miniatures for my niece.#... tbf my wrists were hurting too much to make minis today but not enough to hold back my creative impulse.#oh. also the shingles had been painted black and the cross painted white. but i had to repaint the stencils for the white outline.#and i used more shingles than i was expecting per side too. so i had to paint more today before glueing them down.

1 note · View note

rosedom · 1 month

Note

pleasepleaseplease rose i’m begging you on my knees to make a xiao fic i’ll be ur good boy in return !! (can i be pup anon?? ><)

"an unnamed player has invited XIAO to play . . . my, my, sweet madame

✦ㅤㅤ 【 CW 】 dom!top!amab!reader, sub!bottom!ftm!xiao, sex toy (dildo), vaginal fingering to PIV sex, praise & dirty talk, breeding kink (no mpreg), creampie, cockwarming with alluded aftercare .

A/N : i love u, pup ,,, i can't believe i haven't written xiao yet:c

"do you want to watch, [PLAYER]? press KEEP READING to spectate the match."

“Xiaoooo,” you call, stretching the vowel in your mouth. It’s entirely theatric, far too loud when you know that he could hear a whisper all the same; but that doesn't matter, when he pops up in front of you in a hazy dusting of deep emerald and smoke, all of him bare as he stands a hair's-breadth away.

He says nothing, no “You called?” passing the tip of his tongue. Simply, he only cups your face, his touch so welcome—a learned thing, of course, but one you wouldn't have traded for the world.

“Hi, Xiao,” you murmur, leaning forward the already scant distance to kiss him soft, slow, sweet. “Missed you.”

Huffing against you, at the way you had to separate from him to whisper your words, he presses back to you, gently parts his lips for you.

Eager, your mind says; you only smile, taking his invitation to lick into his mouth, across his sharp teeth. His canines dig into the give of your tongue, nicking you without quite drawing blood.

Then, right there on the balcony of the Inn, voice all soft-like and shy, eyes averted as he tucks himself into your throat, he asks, “Please.”

Please. Simple. Straight to the point. Wholly Xiao in the way he can tell you so much, in the language of his body and not his words.

“Okay, okay,” you murmur, because you know what he wants.

You know, and he begins to tell you more: with the way he wraps his strong arms around you and zaps the two of you away to the safe cocoon of your shared bedroom (the very one he insisted that, No, I do not need—that he very much in fact revels in); with the way you’re both sprawled right in the middle of the soft bed, him under you and you balanced on top of him; and with the way his thighs spread so easily, the way his briefs are gone with no more than a breathy whine, how his cunt is a puffy mauve.

He tells you, and he tells you, and he begs you, arching into you with the strength still in his arousal-weakened body. His torso—all silent muscle, the tattoo wrapping around his shoulder and side in the same path that your wandering hands travel, his abdomen all limber muscle—ripples as his hips press upwards into yours, press the full mound of his achy cunt, surrounded in neatly trimmed, tantalizingly coarse n’ a dark teal hair, up against the throb of your own chubbing cock.

“Mm,” you moan, low in your throat, mouthing against the width of Xiao’s tender throat as you grind together, cock against cock, balls against cunt. “Look’it you, sweet thing, already so wet n’ worked up.

“Is this why you were so quick to respond to my call?” You push him back at your words, gently shushing his whine and sufficiently replacing it with a drawn out lil’ moan when you dip your fingers in, one, two, three.

You grin like the cat who got the cream.“Oh?” you ask, drawl it out low. “All loosened up—” just like he always is on his favorite dildo. “Were you thinkin’ of me, playing with yourself like that?”

It's testament to the trust he has in you when he only nods, up, down, up, down, vehemently against the pillow his head is resting on. Messy teal-black hair splays out around him.

But then he tips his head to the side, eyeing something, and that something just so happens to not be his favorite dildo.

No.

No, it wasn't his favorite dildo—not the one you know almost as well as you know your own dick, a smooth jade curved gently up to stimulate his g-spot. It wasn't that one.

No, it wasn't, because his favorite dildo is rather small, end-be-all. It’s perfect for a soft n’ easy orgasm, no pain of a stretch yet leaves him open for your cock in all those days before where you replaced one cock with another, with your real one.

It wasn't that one.

It was that one—the one on the edge of the bed, not even with a towel under it to prevent that big ol’ wet splotch of what’s maybe Xiao’s thick pre-cum, what was maybe some of his cum, and a bit that's definitely primarily thick n’ slippery lube (Xiao, after all, has never been one to produce much slick.

Slick, no slick—in the end, it doesn't matter: not when his cunt is puffy either wet or dry, and lube is a resource the both of you are not short on).

The cock is monstrous, and you dip a fourth finger into his lube-wet cunt to test the barely there stretch. It's an easy slide, and Xiao bows up into you with a reedy whine, and you've got him right where you want him: exposed, sure, but safe, pleasure-drunk, aroused without cumming just yet on the toy.

“Didn’t cum, little bird?” you ask, leaning close n’ murmuring into his ear while you stretch across the bed for the toy. Your fingers—already so much larger than his—do not meet around the girth of it, and your cock throbs something mean, heat low in your gut. “Oh, Xiao.”

“Don’t—” he grumbles, face aflame. You shush him again, kissing him soundly with the big cock snug in your palm. Teasing, you press the wet mess he’s made of it between the two of you, slipping out your four fingers to nudge the head of it to the sloppy opening of his cunt.

“‘m not tryin’ta be mean to you.” You don’t press the dildo in, yet, letting him weakly clench around the tip. “I want you to talk to me, yeah? Be a good boy n’ talk to me, and I’ll fill you up all nice with this cock,” you murmur, and, for show, you bump it that millimeter in, just enough for his hole to spasm around where it barely intrudes.

But he’s shaking his head at you, sayin’, “Didn’t cum,” and then you’re making like you're about to press that cock in deep, right where he's already open for it, and he says, loud, “No!”

You stop immediately.

The cock is forgotten between your legs as you drop it to wrap around his torso. “Xiao—” you start, an apology ready, a question of Do you want to stop? about to leave your lips when he interrupts you, goes and says something stupid like, “I want you.”

Your heart does something equally stupid, tripping over itself and leaving a dopey lil' grin to stretch across your face. But, “Xiao,” you murmur, bumping your nose against the flat button of his. “I’m not as big as the toy, I don't think it'll feel as good,” because when Xiao's in the mood for a large stretch, your cock typically isn't enough; he likes it for the foreplay, likes cumming all over it, likes being left open and loose for you to slide your bigger dildo in the place you left him bereft. This cock, however, is downright monstrous, one you've never seen before, yet here Xiao is, begging for your cock.

“Don’t care,” he grumbles, pushing you back and reaching down to take hold of your throbbing cock. You hiss through your teeth at the friction after so long, his hand soaked in the leftover lube. He coats you liberally, quickly, tugging at your foreskin almost playfully. “I want only you.”

“Okay, okay!” You huff at him, bat away his small hand to take it in your own. “Let me make you cum then, yeah? Since the toy left you all achy.” You pout, playful, laughing at the distaste that flitters across his face. “Kidding!”

He grumbles, and his fingers thread into yours on his navel. “Less kidding and more—mm!”

Silenced by your cock, Xiao’s jaw drops open as his head falls back to bump into the pillow. “Oh,” he moans, whimpering in pitch.

You only grin, bury yourself up his cunt to the hilt. He’s loose and spasming around you; you weren't lying, about that cock. But your cock is real in a way the dildo isn't. “Feel good, Xiao?” you ask anyway, grinding in and bumping against the overused bump of his g-spot. Swollen heat, pulsing heat, surrounds you, drips down to your balls as you coo at him. “Isn't it nice, givin’ yourself up for me? Lettin’ someone else ruin you on cock?”

He nods, delirious, his forehead shimmering sweat that you just have to kiss away. You kiss the diamond mark, make a path down the barely-there bridge of his nose, tongue at his parted lips.

Your hips thrust slowly but evenly, each the same and pressing in all his favorite spots. “Yeah? Mm,” you moan low and quiet, groaning into the air when you lean back to take proper hold of him. “That cock can't fill you up, is that it? Can't cum in you... Can't cream your pretty cunt... Can’t breed you...”

Hook, link, sinker. “No, no,” he cries, pulling you into him and arching his hips all desperate-like into you, into your cock. “I want—mm!”

“Easy, sweet thing. What do you want, hm? Want me to knock you up?”

“Please!”

A knot is beginning to wind itself in your belly. “Please what, sweetheart?” You tease at the muscles of his belly, his hand long put aside to clutch helplessly at the soft sheets. “Speak up.”

He whines. “Please breed me,” he murmurs, and fuck, because his voice is raspy and shredded and you feel the knot that's tight and looping in your gut about ready to unravel.

You drop your hand from his abs to his swollen cock—red and puffy, sticking out so prettily from the thatch of hair surrounding where you're in balls-deep at the end of each thrust—, working him in gentle but quick, friction-filled circles.

“Cum for me, Xiao. Cum for me, and I’ll cum in you, I promise,” you coo, sweet as sugar, kind as anything. “I’ll fill you up like that cock can’t, yeah? Just like you want. C’mon, baby, sweetheart.”

And then he's coming, and you're coming with him, filling him up as his cunt leaks and drips thick, opaque cum from around the base of your cock. His own cum coats you and dribbles down your balls, a sensation you know will be gross, later; but right now, it's perfect: perfect as the pretty boy on your cock, writhing until he's limp and breathing heavy against the bed.

“Good boy,” you whisper, kiss his fluttering eyelids. “Good boy.”

Weakly, his arms—thick with muscle but shaky, trembling in the aftermath of the lava running through his veins—circle around you. He nuzzles at your throat, nips at your skin.

You laugh. “Feelin’ well bred, baby?”

Xiao bites you.

“Okay, okay! Sorry.” Small laughs still wrack your frame, however, and Xiao sighs in kind before he melts into your meandering touches. He’s hot and warm beneath your hands; and he's wet, slick and soaked between his thighs.

You're still sunk in deep, keeping your cock and cum warm in turn. He doesn't make any move, no indication that he wants you out; so you stay, kiss at him as you fall into the bed with him.

The jostling movement makes him mewl, soft, before it too melts into another sigh. “Sleep.”

“Only if you sleep with me.”

Xiao raises a thick brow.

“Please?” You pinch at the skin of his navel in retaliation, and you roll over, pull him against you until he settles on your torso. “C’mon, Xiao. You need sleep, too.”

“No, I don't.”

You sigh. “Yes, you do. You're gonna lay here—” you reach around to pinch his ass as well, gentle but reprimanding, “—and warm my cock while we both rest.”

He glares at you; then, “Fine.”

“Thank you, sweetheart.” You kiss the crown of that real head, pull the blankets up over you and pay no mind to the mess of cum and slick between you.

You’re warm, he’s warm, your cock is warm—it’s easy to fall asleep, enveloped in heat and heart like this. I love you, Xiao.

It could be a in dream that Xiao says to you, “I love you, too.”

so what if it's my kink to find a pretty guy splayed out with a huge dildo in him. it's not a crime. (in other news, i jacked off to size kink fucking machines the other night, and i don't think i can get that type of fucked out, drippy n' puffed up cunt out of my mind . . . haha. um. so here's xiao, except he fucked himself with his own hand. put that strength to good use, y'know?)

26 MAR. 2024, @rosedom, rosey .

#ㅤ✦【 ASKS 】#【 pup 】#can't believe ur pup anon and i didn't make xiao my puppy . . .#sub character #sub xiao #xiao smut #xiao x reader #sub genshin #genshin smut #genshin x reader #ftm nsft #u know how it rolls !

405 notes · View notes

huicitawrites · 11 months

Text

The Hunt

Yandere! Miguel O' Hara x Fem! Spider! Reader

T/W: yandere (slow-burn(?)), dark fic, violence, assault, spoilers for across the spiderverse.

Status: rewritten.

Next Chapter

Word Count: 2,4k

"Y/N! Get. Back. Here. NOW", swinging away from an infuriated Miguel O'Hara wasn't something you had planned or ever thought would occur, never entertained the thought of it. At least not until now, as you desperately attempted to get away from him and somehow escape him- for your dimension-travel watch (as wild as the concept of it sounded) had been snatched by the same man that was madly hunting you down.

How did it even all come to this? Let's rewind, back to the beginning.

Part I

After being bitten by a radioactive spider in a school trip to Alchemax at the young age of 15, you obtained enhanced spider-like abilities: a sixth sense for perceiving danger, incredible reflexes, amazing parkour skills, extraordinary strentgh and flexibility.

And for the past ten years, you have been New York's one and only Spider-Woman.

Learning to use your powers was a whole trip on itself. They awakened rather clumsily -nothing a leap of faith could not fix- as you began to grasp the ropes of being a masked hero in your teenage years [it's safe to say that your teenage years were truly a heck of a rollercoaster].

Handling a double-life was not easy, that is something you have learned with your ten years experience. You saved a bunch of people and thus many lives, you won many times and saved the city countless more. Yet you also earned a bunch of dangerous criminals and villains tailing behind your back that would want to kill you without hesitation and harm you in any way possible.

In spite of the times you were beaten down, left made a mess in the ground, or at the brink of death- you would always get back up because you were Spider-Woman.

Sometimes, getting back up was hard.

The weight of the sake of the city was on your shoulders. And sometimes, that weight crushed you. When you lost your parents it was devastating, because not only had you failed as a hero, but as a daughter.

[Your dad perished in an attempt to save you from an attack of one of many enemies- the Green Goblin . You two happened to be on a ‘father and daughter’ outing in a nice dinner when the Green Goblin tried to draw out Spider-Woman from her hiding place in Brooklyn (unbeknownst of your true identity and much to your own misery and guilt.) After battling the Green Goblin and imprisoning him, you rose with your dead father in your arms, and an huge crack in your heart that would leave a deep scar.

Months later, your mother's followed suit. That day was chaotic, panic filled the streets of New York as The Rhino, a veteran soldier with super human strentgh and a high-techno advanced armor resembling a rhinoceros, laid waste to the city. You were evacuating all civilians nearby, swinging across and into buildings, picking up and scooping anyone you could encounter and putting them out of danger.

It happened as you held falling debris with your arms. You picked up wailing in between the many cries of people, and your spider-sense guided your eyes up from the ground.

A child, no older than five, was crying. He was glued to the floor, too overwhelmed by the calamity surrounding him. A wall from a building was falling on him and your heart beat raced. You still had people below you that were crawling out and the child was a or two block away. Your thoughts raced in your head, you had to save everyone, down to the last live.

"Come on, come on, come on" you muttered in between gritted teeth as you gathered power and lifted the debris into the air. With the help of your web shooter, you pulled all the remaining civilians out and casted aside the courtesy of double-checking as you swinged toward the child.

You could see how the wall fell over him, and you reached out your arm with your forearm out desperately, attempted to pull him out with your web but the wall was already about to touch his head and-

She pushed the child out of the danger, motherly instincts impulsing her feet at the cost of her own life. The child was pushed onto you and you brought him flush against you with your web, arms encasing him as you witnessed the wall collapse on her.

In shock and disbelief, you gently lowered the child to the ground and ran to the fallen wall. Once again in despair, you clawed through the debris and searched for your mother’s body.

You found her bruised and crushed, her face deformed. You brushed the dust off it. Her pained groan was faint, and you begged her right there and then not to leave you. Not to leave you alone, again.

“Is the kid al…?”

“Yes! Don’t, don’t talk. Help, help is coming. You have to stay, you have to.” But her eyes were already fading, and her limbs growing weak. Your disguised hand snatched up hers and you cried,

“Mom!”

She recognized your voice, the one she cherished the most. Her fading eyes gathered all the warmth they could muster and she reached out a quivering hand to your cheek. Her fingers slid into your mask, and she felt your tear stained skin.

“Ah my baby…[Y/n]…I’m so proud... Your father would be so proud... keep it up”. Her last words were voiced with strain, but you would always remember them.]

They became the fuel for your mission, and no matter how many times you were beaten to the ground and wounded to no end, you stood back up. You would save everyone else, no more deaths, you swore upon your parents' last moments.

Now in your adult life, you found yourself in a stable life besides the implications your side hustle not-so-side -hustle brought. You had an adequate job as a writer for small titles in a decent newspaper, and you had a department you shared with your childhood best friend, Peter Parker [who eventually became your tech-desk guy. Hiding your true identity from your best friend and roommate would have never lasted long anyway. You remember clearly the day you climbed into the living's window, beat up, bruised and tired, when the lights suddenly turned on and a Peter with crossed arms and an eyebrow raised was waiting for you like a parent whose child was past curfew. You were without your mask on. Nonetheless, after stuttering uncontrollably and failing to explain and just simply breaking down in front of him. Without saying any words, he took out the first aid kit and reassured you with a smile. You were so grateful to him.]

So now here you were, crouching on the top of The Clock Tower, the moonlight casting its light on your back and darkening your silhouette. Earlier in the day you dealt with some thugs and minor crimes, but since the sun fell nothing happened. That was odd, NYC was never quite, least of all times at night.

But your spider-sense was running, not rampant, but definetely there like annoying itch on the nape. Something had to be off, you knew it.

"Um, I'm not picking up anything, (Y/n). Maybe you should be calling it a night, you've been doing good work so far. You did lower the crime rate, after all."

"You sure Pete? There's this feeling in my gut and-"

"Your 'spidey- thingy' ?".

"Spider-sense, spidey-thingy sounds dumb" you answered with a small groan, rolling your eyes although he could not see the.

He chuckled, "Yeah, yeah, whatever," he turned serious " but I'm not getting anything from anywhere. From police radios and stations to our own hidden cameras"

"Nothing? Sure?"

"I mean everything is awfully quiet now that I think about it... All I can pick up is glitching, let's see... let me do my thing and-" you could hear frantic typing through the comms of your suit within the mask, you could even picture Peter hunching and fixing his eyeglasses.

What he said left you pondering. Glitching? It couldn't be a coincidence that all the radio signals he could pick up were glitching.

"Aha! Here it is, your spidey-thingy was right." this time, you chuckled as if saying 'see?'. He continued, "-this should be a very hidden signal from the special forces team. Seems classified, man they should really put a little more money into whatever software they use to protect their privacy" and he pushed on one final 'enter', the glitching and static got louder almost startling you to which your friend apologized softly, but it evened out.

"Report the situation, Lieutenant Stacy"

"Requesting back-up right now, suspect is armed with advanced equipment, we are at the Port, South East, many of my men and women have been wounded and- oh, shit, shit" The man's words died down with the sound of something big crashing and breaking.

Well, that's your cue. You stood up on your toes and balanced you body weight forward, diving to the ground. With your limbs extended, you stretched your forearm and extended your wrist, web shooting out from the slick web shooter Peter designed.

Swinging from building to building under the night sky, you jumped across billboards and slid past tight spaces as you were heading to the location of the conflict, and the closer you swinged, the wilder your spider sense got.

When you arrived at the port, you saw a SWAT truck that was flipped over, it had a huge dent in the form of a what seemed to be a claw mark, and the windows had been broken. There were a few members on the floor, and you noticed there were two trying to lift the heavy vehicle.

"Let me help," you announced your presence and they whipped their heads. Their faces were glistening with sweat and dirt, and you could notice their equipment was damaged. You crouched and lifted the truck, there was one member there below, and his leg was twisted the other way, but he was breathing- well, panting.

Without further a do, the soldiers went and dragged out their friend. A soldier's face lit up, though they seemed hesitant [after all, your line of work was kind of controversial among the government and its forces] but they were thankful. "Thank you, Spider-Woman", their voice was genuine and you smiled below the mask.

"Your welcome, leave it to me" winking at them through your lense, you nodded and propelled yourself to the ceiling of the warehouse. You noticed a roof canopy at the center, lucky you, and brought the palm of your hand to it. Utilizing your sticky finger pads, you carefully removed a pane of glass and entered the building without making a sound.

"Be careful, please" Peter voiced with worry.

You hanged the web from it's strongest point at the peak, and slowly lowered yourself down until your hand gently brushed the cold floor . You got off the web and crawled in direction of the tingling of the spider-sense. You found some warehouse crates, pressed your back onto them, slowly leaning your head out to take a peak.

A man stood there, a middle aged man by the looks of him. He had a round pair of black sunglasses on and a large leather coat on, but the most outstanding feature was apparently behind him. Four metal tentacle-like arms sprouting from his back, with threatening looking claws. That had to be the thing that put such a dent in a SWAT vehicle, the advanced equipment you heard of in the interception.

He was ranting about something, speaking to himself. "The power of the sun at the palm of my hand, only to be ruined by that fucking-"

‘What is this man even talking about…’

His words died down in your ears as it took a few seconds for your spider-sense to peak, and you scrunched your face features. Your eyebrows furrowed and your eyes squinted, cheeks squeezing up and causing the lenses of the mask to stretch and flatten.

"(Y/n)? Found anything yet?" Peter inquired.

"This man... I think I know him... but also not..." At this point, your spider-sense was rampant. Your gaze still confused as you tried to decipher him. Your spider sense was alerting you of this oddly familiar feeling. It was someone you had dealt with before, but also someone new. Simply off-putting.

Then the realization fell on you, his tentacle-like arms.

"Is that Doc Ock!?" Without getting a hold of your reaction, you accidentally raised your voice and revealed your location. Your spider-sense tingled again, this time, sensing imminent danger as you backflipped and dodged the incoming attack. The crate you were hiding behind of was broken into splinters.

"Come on out, Spider-Man!" he shouted, his voice in pure anger.

Spider-Man? As long as you remember, you never referred to your disguised self as Spider-Man...

"It's Spider-Woman, mind you" You revealed yourself off the shadows, and the light basked in your costume, revealing its signature colors and design. "Do I know you by chance?" you tited your head, inquisitive in your tone as you were trying to figure things out.

The man's expression fell, and his rage was replaced by annoyance.

"Is this some kind of sick joke, Spider-Man? Have you forgotten the name of the man whose work of life you ruined, Otto Octavius." His tongue rolled of his name with spite and you widened your eyes.

"Doc Ock? But, you are different. You are totally human". Last time you checked, Doc Ock was a mad scientist that turned himself half-octopus by bioengineering his genetics in the name of some sort of sick evolution idea. He had tried to turn the city into mutants like himself for 'the sake of humanity's future' and you managed to stop his plans. Furthermore, he had been sent to a high-security prison for villains, where an anti-serum is being developed to turn him back and halt his aggression.

"Are you pulling my leg Spider-Man?" He said with disbelief, and he began to appear more and more angry by the second. He muttered something below his breath, and you swore you saw one of his tentacles turn toward his face as if it were sentient and listening...

"I've told you it's Spider-Woman." You huffed out, chest puffing out. You had a bad feeling about this...

The man's hand ran down his own face and he groaned, visibly tired. "Well, whatever, but you do appear to be an ally of Peter Parker's, your costume and your name leave little room for further speculation". The mention of your friend raised up your guard, how did he know Pete? Any doubts and hesitation erased themselves of your mind, for your friend could be in lethal danger.

"Oh? What's the matter, 'Spider-Woman'," he sneered.

"Picked right on the web, hmm?" He edged on, a dangerous smirk dancing on his face and two claws raising up in the air, ready to pounce.

There was not much to it, as you jumped sideways to dodge whatever that clawed-tentacle-armor was. You found yourself right back at the gig, fighting a villain as the one and only Spider-Woman.

Or so you thought.

A/n: Hi! So when I first saw this fictional man I KNEW I had to write about him, originally, it was going to be a long one shot, but I decided to break it into parts. I expect this story to be up to 3 parts or 4 as most. Anyhow, I hope you come to like it!, and sorry for the long- ass intro, I really wanted to dwelve deeper into reader as a spider person. Next is the real thing. I have seen some people have asked me to tag them, so don’t be shy to ask too!

#yandere #yandere x reader #self insert #yandere blog #yandere fanfiction #yandere writing #miguel o hara x reader #yandere miguel #yandere miguel o'hara #miguel o' hara x reader #across the spiderverse #yandere across the spiderverse #female reader #yandere spiderman 2099 #yandere spiderman #spiderman 2099 x reader

3K notes · View notes

yesimwriting · 5 months

Note

okay but after the whole lucy gray thing we know coryo was done with “love” and everything BUT what if during the following year of thg he ends up falling in love with another tribute also from district 12 and he’s just going through it bad (again) however he somehow ends up actually getting the girl in the end, maybe even buying her way into the capitol

A/n I've been thinking about a very specific part of this since i first read it but i told myself no more fic writing until i finished at least one of my essays for finals seasons 😭

also ik in the book (and it's implied in the movie) that after the events of the book he lives with the plinths, but let's pretend he lives on his own with access to the plinth fortune for privacy

ik that makes it sound like it's smutty, but it's not lol

----

Proximity aggravates distance. The closer you are to something, the more damage any remaining space causes.

The few feet dividing the two of you have no right to jab at something inside of him the way it does. It's bad enough that instead of going to bed after a long night of fulfilling his apprenticeship duties under Volumnia's watchful eye, he stopped by your apartment. Only one floor away from his.

For months, the only thing holding the two of you together had been memories of those few nights before the Games.

Coriolanus's attempt to remain indifferent towards you had quickly failed, and his backup plan of learning to loathe you had proven to be just as useless. So he settled on letting you unabashedly take his hand whenever fear overwhelmed you and committing the way your kind eyes watched him to memory.

You're looking around the room--his room--openly, eyes darting from the mahogany surface of his desk to the details elegantly carved into his bed frame.

His fingertips itch with the uncertain desire to reach for you. You've only been in the Capitol for about a day and a half. Less than 48 hours. But the move, the beginning of a program for certain, qualifying victors and their families, had been planned for months.

You shouldn't feel like a phantom that'll vanish if he lets go for too long. "What are you thinking about?"

The question grounds you the same way it did last time he asked. You do your best to hide it, but you're still adjusting, still surprised that he managed to find a way to bring you together again. Just like he promised. Your doubt isn't personal, a fact he has to remind himself of.

"I'm just..." You tilt your head slightly, gaze retreating from the royal blue wallpaper and silver trim of his bedroom walls, "Analyzing."

The comment is followed by an easygoing smile that pinches at something in his chest. His new apartment, the penthouse of one of the largest buildings in the city, another gift from the ever flowing well that is the Plinth fortune, still reeks of former poverty. The few things that hint at the personal are hidden behind layers of desperate wealth so thick the items might as well be standard.

A lifetime spent in 12 means that there's no way you can read between the lines. He can't decide if your perspective will make this room look worse or better. It's a nice bedroom, definitely grander than any bedroom you've stood in before...but it's understated. Maybe even disappointing to someone like you.

"Analyzing?"

You turn fully, "A bedroom says a lot about a person."

"You might get more out of analyzing my study," an oddly school boy worthy partial truth slips out before he can stop himself, "I think I've been spending more time there than here recently."

You shake your head once, eyes landing on the crimson red vase filed with crisp white roses his grandma'am had gifted him on his last visit. Her pride and joy now more than ever. "I'm seeing all I need."

A hint of a smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. It's the most genuine expression that's slipped past him in weeks. When he first worked out a way to bring you here, some doubting part of him wondered if the draw he felt towards you would still exist in person.

Less than two weeks after your victorious departure from the Capitol, he had searched through your files and found your address. He had written the letter in a moment of weakness and only sent it after deciding that writing a letter to never be sent is the only thing more pathetic than writing to you in the first place. He had spent the week following that wallowing in self loathing until an age-stained envelope arrived at his door.

"And what are you seeing?" He keeps his tone light. This is ridiculous. He dragged himself and his family out of a gutter clogged by the casualties of war. Coriolanus is stronger than fleeting emotion now. Your opinions on his room can't possibly affect him.

If he were to simplify what brought you here, to the Capitol, to him, he could blame it on his bedroom. The urge to see you, to figure out some way the two of you closer together before your undeserving district could swallow you whole in an attempt to make you like them, would flare up whenever he received one of your letters.

Those urges, however, had never burned him. Not until you wrote about wanting to see him out of the most curious nostalgia you'd ever felt. You wanted to see him in a way that'd let you know what his room looked like, in a way that'd let you guess at his favorite color.

He takes a few steps forward, making the conscious decision to not reach for you. You've never rejected his advances, not even when he instinctually intertwined your fingers after picking you and your family up from the train station. You had scolded him after, telling him that you'd hear no end of it from your mother. It took a lot of focus for Coriolanus to not smile at that. You spoke of it like it would've never occurred to you to just pull your hand away.

Your eyes shift from end of the room to the other. Coriolanus moves carefully, passing you before sitting at the edge of his crisply made bed.

"Before you make your decision..." You turn instinctually, expression so polite and expecting he almost doesn't know how to bear it. His hand briefly pats the space beside him in a silent invitation. "So you can see it from all perspectives."

Your head tilts slightly, and for a moment, Coriolanus can practically feel your rejection. Then you move, sock clad feet treading over smooth white-gray marble. You sit next to him so assuredly, anyone else would have taken the way you neatly fold your hands in your lap as politeness instead of a display of nerves.

Your family's presence makes you less pliable. It's a factor he's willing to work around considering that you would've never left them to come to the Capitol. And even if he had managed to talk you into it, your nostalgia and homesickness would've made you more of a ghost to him than before.

At least the position your family's in is uncertain enough to allow for some leeway in the social norms that you cling to. However, every once in awhile it hits you that at the end of the day, he's still a boy that you're close to, which means that it's your duty to create the distance necessary to keep everything proper. Leaving your bedroom in the middle of the night because said boy knocked at your door and then entering his room in his empty penthouse is something you would've done under normal circumstances.

But your connection isn't that black and white. If it was something so simple, he would have been able to sever it the night before your Games.

"It makes all the difference," you agree warmly, and only somewhat sarcastically. You give yourself another second to take in the space, "I like it."

He can tell that you mean it. "I haven't fully settled in yet."

You shrug, paying him little mind, "There's something about it that just feels like you."

Coriolanus shifts his focus to the ground. You can't possibly mean it in the way that he sees the room, as a reminder that he still doesn't fully fit into who he's become.

"I've been meaning to pick up a few things," he says, "Tomorrow, after my classes, I was thinking about browsing some paintings." Another half truth. He had been meaning to. Mrs. Plinth had instructed him to visit her art dealer whenever he had enough free time to pick out a few pieces to demonstrate his taste. He'd been putting it off as a dismissable task, but it feels like a safe way to give you your first taste of life in the Capitol. "If you'd like to help me pick some out."

You smile, eyebrows pinching together in a way that's just barely noticeable. You're as interested as you are puzzled. "I'd like that." Relaxing enough to let your hand rest between the two of you, you beam, "I don't know if I'd be much help, but I'd like that."

He'd be willing to get anything that caught your eye. Paintings and vases already with such an exclusive art dealer hold more or less the same level of standing, anyway.

Coriolanus moves his hand slowly, careful not to startle you before his fingers can settle against your own. You instinctually turn over your palm, intertwining your fingers. "I trust you."

You stare at him with wide, understanding eyes. Sometimes when you look at him, really look at him, Coriolanus is struck with the feeling that you can see right through him. It's an irrational feeling, that every good action and cruel deed is reflected in his eyes. Moments like this make it hard to be near you. They also, however, make the thought of adding distance between the two of you unbearable.

"I have an early class."

You dip your chin forward in an attempt to accept what you're considering a dismissal. "Right, you must be tired." The words sit between you for a long moment.

Your free hand presses into the silk of your still new pajamas. You shift like you're going to stand. His hold on your hand tightens before you can move away. You still.

He's being ridiculous. There's nothing about this situation that warrants his inability to look at you. "Stay here." His thumb runs across your knuckles. "With me."

The words are soft enough to be a request, but there's not enough space between them for questioning. He cautiously lifts his head enough to take in your reaction.

"What?" It's a display of shock more than an actual question. Coriolanus squeezes your hand even tighter. You don't try to get him to let go, but you do shift away just enough to create the reminder of distance. "You know I can't."

His other hand reaches forward, settling against your wrist. "Why not?" He doesn't mean for his voice to come off as raspy, as desperate as it does.

You swallow, attempting to straighten your spine in an attempt to offset the instinctual urge to hide your face. This isn't a topic you're even comfortable implying. "My mother would kill me if she so much as found out that I came up here so late, let alone..." You trail off, head dropping to your lap. "Stayed here."

He envelops your hand between both of his. "She knows we're friendly."

You look up just long enough to imply a pointed not that friendly. "It's--" You blink, eyes darting from to your joint hands and then finally to the ground. "You know it's..."

Coriolanus leans forward. The shift is small, just enough for his knee to brush against yours. "It's what?" He keeps his voice low, a barely there whisper that comes off as so innocent it nearly circles back to anything but.

You glance up, so wide eyed and flighty he's reminded of a rabbit. The level of precaution you're exuding can't just be about your mother's opinions, can it? He studies your expression openly, taking in the set of your eyebrows and the way you steadily press your lips together to avoid speaking without thinking. At least some part of you believes in your mother's concerns.

The realization strike shim so quickly he has to focus on keeping his expression neutral. Your bond is so much more than just coming together on a random night where exhaustion's already clouding his focus.

It will happen between the two of you. Eventually. But not yet. You've barely entered the Capitol and every aspect of your life has become vastly different than what you're accustomed to. If he were to attempt to cement any relationship between the two of you like that now, you'd be too overwhelmed or you might think that that's the only reason he brought you here.

He learned early on that it's best to introduce adjustments to you slowly, giving you enough time to hold onto ideas before enacting them. Anything of that nature would work that way too.

"I haven't been able to see much of you." He focuses on your hand, still resting safely between both of his. The words came out too quickly, a flash of some genuine sort of emotion that claw at him on the way out. With you, sometimes a glimpse of feeling works wonders.

Your thumb draws gentle patterns against the side of his hand. "You're busy." He relaxes his hand, turning over his palm. You place his hand on your knee, fingers tracing the natural creases etched into his skin. "You're important."

The way that last word comes out makes an uncertain warmth crawl up his neck. "I--I've wanted to see you more." Another thing he means so much it turns his stomach to admit it.

Your nail drags down a line that cuts across the length of his hand. "Me too."

He bends his fingers slowly, moving in until he's trapped your pointer finger against his palm. "Then stay." You twist your finger enough to express some lighthearted irritation, but not enough to count as a real attempt at escaping. "If your mother says anything, I'll explain it to her." You glare at him without any true aggression. "She likes me, doesn't she?"

Coriolanus already knows the answer. She credits your survival to him. You had mentioned that in a letter once, telling him that she insisted you pass along her gratitude after discovering that the two of you had started to correspond regularly.

He also saw the way she reacted to realizing that she had made it to the Capitol. Your mother's family had once been part of the wealthier side of 12. You're part of a recently fallen line of mine owners, a fact that your mother has only pretended to let go of. He saw a hunger behind her eyes that reminded him of a warped version of his own.

Coriolanus gave her back the pride the war had stolen from her family name tenfold. He owes her this much.

"She'd trade me for you in a heartbeat." He hears the grin in your voice more than he sees it. Your family means the world to you, which means he's subjected himself to seeking your mother's validation and winning over your two younger sisters.

It's not the way he'd choose to spend his limited free time, especially with you standing right there, but he's endured worse for less of a pay off. "Then she'd be a fool."

You fight to hold his gaze. "I doubt that."

Your eyes are pools of honest, unfiltered affection. The care that you're watching him with makes it hard to swallow. The instinct to press, to dig and claw and tear anything that could be hiding an ulterior motive into shreds makes it hard to take a full breath. You've always worn your heart on your sleeve. You're not a flighty songbird that uses its charm to distract its prey from its fang-like talons.

"Stay." Again. So breathless he almost doesn't recognize the word as his own.

The deliberation is transparent behind your eyes. You're considering it, but you're still not convinced. The hesitation stings in a way he doesn't understand. "I don't want to give her a reason to not like you."

So softly spoken he's shocked by the way the words manage to feel like a nail being hammered into his chest.

"She's let you stay with other people before." The response is too sharp, too sudden. He should refocus and think through what he's about to say. Coriolanus knows that it's easier to get you to agree to something through the use of honey sweetened words and displays of patience. "You wrote about him."

The confusion that briefly etches its way into your expression threatens to quell the uncomfortable swell of jealousy tightening his chest. "Warren?" The name makes tints the air between you with something acidic. "That was--different."

Your explanation adds an edge to the pressure in his chest. "Why?"

"We weren't--" You cut yourself off, the instinct to placate him and your desire to not start a conversation you can't finish battling each other oddly. "We were never alone." You squeeze his hand as best as you can. "He's a family friend and I only stayed over when my mom had to work late and I was too young to be alone for so long, so I haven't stayed over in years. And--and he shared a room with three of his siblings and his parents checked on us constantly."

He frowns, unconvinced. The lack of approval has you clinging to him, adjusting your hold on his hand as you gently trail your knuckles against the inside of his wrist. "I do miss you." You stare at your hands. "I know it's weird because we're--y'know--closer than before, but I-I do miss you."

The expanding wave of tension in his chest begins to deflate. You're good at that, at redirecting and soothing without even realizing it. A talent that had contributed to his original desire to loathe you. "I understand that." He runs his thumb over your knuckles. "Things aren't going to get less busy. That's why I want to use all the time we have."

You nod slowly, a hint of understanding making its appearance in the set of your brow. "I know."

"What you wrote," he begins, too aware of how much he means the question that follows, "Did you mean it."

"Of course I did." Not an ounce of hesitation, of uncertainty.

He turns your hand over before shifting his fingers up the inside of your wrist. "You wrote about wanting to see me."

"I did..." The pad of his thumb gently makes its way up your forearm. Your even breathing falters. "I do."

Coriolanus lets himself look up just enough to take in your expression. "Then stay." He swallows, too aware of the sudden dryness of his mouth. "Please."

You glance up at him through your lashes. There's a softness there that jabs at him. "Okay."

He lifts the back of your hand, carefully brushing his lips against your skin. "You mentioned wanting to see a library."

You wrote about it once. A brief mention in one of your letters of the small room in your school's office that served as a sort of communal study space with a few books stacked on a small shelf. Your longing had been clear.

Nodding curiously, you agree, "Yeah?"

"I could leave for my classes a little earlier tomorrow, you could come with me." The proposal comes out slowly, his own suggestion taking him by surprise. "My driver could bring you back, that'll give you time to meet the tutor that's being sent over for your sisters, and then when I get back we'll look at the paintings."

You immediately grin, "Really?"

He finds himself smiling back, pulling your arm closer. "Whatever you want."

You beam. "I'd really like that."

"Good," he affirms with a nod of his head that's a touch too forward. He regrets it almost immediately. "If you like it, I might be able to get your own tutor to meet you at a library."

Part of the still uncertain victor program relies on setting up the victor and their family with a new life. Education plays a role in that. Placing any one of you in an actual Capitol run institution is far out of the question. For everyone's sake. Even if the thought of sharing a classroom with someone from 12 didn't horrify the Capitol parents, you and your siblings wouldn't be able to just jump in. It's not that he views you as unintelligent, but District 12's education system isn't exactly on par with the Capitol's.

"That sounds nice," you sit up a little straighter, excited by the prospect, "A part of me kind of misses school."

Another aspect of your personality that he had learned about after your Games. You like school for the sake of it. "I'll check on the arrangements tomorrow."

He clears his throat before you can do more than just nod, "It's getting late."

Coriolanus carefully sets your hand down on the comforter. You awkwardly shift, now more aware of what you agreed to than ever. "Right," you push yourself to stand, "You need your sleep."

He pulls back his sheets before you can think about it even further. You crawl into the provided space without looking at anything in particular. He's quick to join you beneath the safety of plush bedding before leaning over and turning off the bedside lamp.

Darkness floods the space. There's something about the absence of light that makes things feel heavier. The potential intimacy of the situation sneaks up on him with no warning.

This isn't a loss of control. It can't be. It was his idea, he had pushed and convinced you to stay here. He's aware of everything that's led up to this moment, but that's not enough to stop him from wondering if this is something than he should have known better than to embrace. He had accepted the familiar, fickle knotting of his stomach once before.

Steady warmth presses itself against his arm. He blinks, head turning a second too quickly. Your hand has found his. Coriolanus relaxes, allowing himself to fully relax against his pillow. You pick up on his shift, reflecting it by laying down as well.

For someone that had been so hesitant, you seem to know what to do better than he does. You pull his arm towards you, gently trailing your fingers against the exposed skin. Heat crawls up his neck.

"Goodnight," you mumble, voice already drowsy.

Coriolanus lets out a long breath. He grasps your hand, bringing it back to his lips before settling back into the position the two of you were in before. "Goodnight."

#the hunger games #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus snow #the hunger games x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes x reader #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #coriolanus x reader

571 notes · View notes

aemonds-sapphire · 1 year

Text

Dragons

Summary: Aemond had once doubted his ability to be a good parent, but, as far as you and your daughter are concerned, he excels at it.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader

Warnings: Pure fluff. Dad Aemond. Cavity inducing fluff

Word count: 800

The moment you opened the door to your bedchamber, something firm collided against your legs.

Or rather… someone.

You looked down to gaze at your daughter clinging onto you, silver hair all messy and left eye covered.

The black eyepatch resembling the one who belonged to…

“Aemond?”

But your daughter had an unlimited supply of vivacity within her, and had her arms so tightly wrapped around you, you simply couldn’t move.

“Look, muña! I’m just like keppa,” she grinned widely, making use of High Valyrian just as her father intended. “I look ferocious now!”

A genuine chuckle escaped your lips as she started marching in circles on the floor, conjuring a deep frown and and brushing her long hair off her shoulders.

Your heart was bursting at the seems with adoration. He had been the one to give her that. He had once worried he would not be a suitable father, but the happy little girl running in front of you was the living proof that he had overcome his fears.

“Keppa, keppa!” She cheered once Aemond walked in from the other room.

He lowered himself to pick her up into his arms, and she promptly wrapped her tiny arms around his neck, squishing her face against his.

“Please do not say a word,” he said in defeat, but only to get a reaction from her.

You had to clasp one hand to your mouth to muffle a laugh.

His silky long silver hair had strands twisted in all sorts of odd angles from the velvety laces that ranged from a rose pink to a deep red.

“Iksā gevia,” she said, planting a sloppy kiss on his scar.

“Gevie,” he corrected, welcoming her affection. “And you are the one who’s beautiful.”

She pecked his eyepatch, playing with his hair and tying tiny bows into it. “Now I’m beautiful like you,” she beamed, pointing at her covered eye.

You slowly approached them, and placed your head on his shoulder, realising just how fortunate you were to be blessed with a husband who was an exceptional parent.

“The eyepatch?” you inquired, raising an eyebrow.

He looked adoringly at the child sitting on his arm. “She asked me to get her one.”

Aemond had onced expressed how hesitant he was to show her his sapphire eye, fearing she might be scared of him.

But shouldn’t have feared her reaction. She did gaze at him with eyes wide open, and then said her father’s eye reminded her of the deep blue ocean she had seen from Vhagar’s back one day.

Their bond was so strong one could only wonder how such unconditional love was possible.

The first word your daughter had said was keppa. The moment she was old enough to walk, she would stride around the Red Keep behind Aemond. The first time she stubbed her foot on a table, he had Vhagar burn it to the ground (much to Queen Alicent’s horror as it was a very old and esteemed piece of furniture).

Aemond turned his face to you, placing the softest kiss on your lips.

“Please aid me, my lady,” he feigned suffering , drawing out the most adorable chuckles from your daughter. “This baby dragon is attacking my hair.”

She bared her tiny teeth as fangs and growled. “I am dangerous!”

The love he had for her knew no boundaries. She came first. He’d give her the moon should she ask for it.

Yet, she had celebrated her 7th name day not long ago, and her only wish was to always have her father by her side.

She was far too young to know such thing was impossible and to learn of the heartache of losing someone you loved, but you didn’t tell her. Nor did Aemond.

For now, you’d simply cherish your family, and falling deeper in love with them.

#aemond targaryen x reader #aemond fluff #aemond x you #aemond x reader #hotd imagine

4K notes · View notes

writingoddess1125 · 5 months

Text

Simon with his Triplets

Simon and how he is with each of his triplets.

Hazel

• His fighter and his attitude, Wrapped up in the beautiful bundle that was his Hazel.

• Hazel was the most like him in terms of his fighting spirat, While he had simmered down greatly over the years he saw it everyday in his daughter.

• She carried herself with a sense of pride and strength that he couldn't be more proud of.

• Hazel was the defender of the triplets, being the one to fight if anyone dared pick on her other siblings

• Simon had to pick her up from school far too many times for fighting-

• Simon did had to teach her how to control herself, Having to show her different ways to channel her temper- And the best way he found was Boxing

• Simon still kept in shape, not wanting to get weak as time did him in- So he kept up some heavy workouts. So he had the two of them go to the Boxing gym together

• There she blew off steam and trained with him. Well into her late teens she did this picking up MMA as well on her own.

• "Dad I want to go into the military-" She said, firmly as she lowered her arms from the boxing bag. Her fist still in the skull hand gloves he bought her for her 18th birthday. Simon freezing mid set and looked at her-

• "No-" He said simply, before going back to the bag.

• Hazel glared at him but didn't say anything else but went back to the bag herself. Simon assuming the conversation was over.

• He was going through the mail and sees a Royal Marine letter, assuming it's his he opens it and sees its an acceptance letter for Hazel and her date to start basic.

• Was he proud? Of Course

• Was he also angry that she had hidden this from him, went behind his back and disobeyed him? ABSOLUT-FUCKING-ELY

• Him and Hazel have the argument of the centry- But he was able to calm down enough to hear her out and makes her promise that she won't do anything dangerous as a job- She agrees..

• Then immediately goes in for Special Forces Operations like he did and Simon damn near has a stroke and is ready to drag his daughter by home when he learns of this.

Rose

• Rose- His little princess. His sunshine and rainbows child.

• She is the dreamer of the trio, Always imagining new things.

• She is also the artist- Has Simon cleaned enough crayon, paint, pencil from the floors and walls to last a lifetime? Yes- Has he bought thousands of dollars worth of supplies and made his credit card cry.. Absolutely

• But Simon loves every painting, statue and drawing imaginable. Keeping them in his office- Even if he doesn't understand artsy things he will smile and thank Rose

• Rose is also his hiking buddy- The two taking a weekends to explore new hiking trails together. Which he uses to rip his daughter away from the grips of the crows of boys that seemed to drool over his precious girl.

• Due to her naturally bubbly and sweet nature she gets a lot more attention from boys then Simon would like-

• "I don't like the boys that try after you, You know what they want-" He said in a warning tone, already irritated at the idea of them sniffing around his little girl.

• "W-Well...Daddy what would you say if I didn't like the boys either-?" She said softly, almost at a whisper- The irritation Simon felt damn near flying out his body.

• Simon looks at her quietly, trying to gauge her reaction only to see she was doing the same-

• "So- You don't like boys? What about girls?" He asked softly, unsure of any other way or working it. Her cheeks turning a flushed pink at this-

• "I see-" He said calmly, Patting Rose's shoulder as they made it over the steep hill of the hiking trail. The two looking over the beautiful scenery before them

• "Same rules, We have to meet her and her parents and No closed doors" He said simply and with a hint of a smile on his face. Rose smiling as well and nodding-

• Simon is secretly overjoyed to learn his daughter likes girls, he finds it mentally easier. Meets his daughter's girlfriend and will take her along with him hiking.

• She ends up as a Art Teacher, While he didn't understand he absolutely supported it happy she had found her calling.

Johnny

• Johnny is his Mini-Me and his lad.

• Seeing as your genes didn't even fucking try with Johnny it was just like you copy and pasted Simon. Blonde hair, light eyes and only a shade or two darker then his father. Other then that he got nothing from you-

• He adores his Son and feels proud of him everyday he lived and breathes.

• Johnny still refuses to speak, remaining mute but Simon is fairly certain it's by choice which he respects.

• Simon and him sitting next to each other as you argue with Hazel about something stupid, Johnny discreetly reaching up and taking off his hearing-aids to not hear anymore.

• Simon has to suppress a laugh-

• Johnny often goes hunting with Simon, especially since he's the most into the outdoors besides Rose.

• Is oddly a perfect hunter- Has very quiet steps and is smart with a gun.

• Him and Johnny are sitting in some trees waiting for the elk to go by, Johnny staring out into space a bit as he holds his rifle and thinks.

• Simon seeing this grabs a piece of bark and tosses it at him to get his sons attention. 'Whats wrong?' Simon signs, Johnny sighing lightly.

• 'I guess, just thinking-' Johnny signed. Simon nodding his head for the teen to continue.

• 'Do you wish I wasn't deaf? I could have been military like you, I couldn't have done a lot of things. Like speak.. Does it bother you?'

• Simon felt surprised by this- Shaking his head quickly. 'No-'

• 'No- I do not care about if you are deaf or dont speaak, it doesnt matter to me. You are my Son- I'd have never let you go into the military either way, I don't want any of you to experience what I have. I want you to live good lives, and long ones not just for me and your mother. But for your name sake. So no, it doesnt bother me' Simon signed, feeling the burn in his chest at remembering his fallen comrade and his sons namesake.

• Johnny sat there, his hands twitching as he tried to think what to say but couldn't. Instead just smiling softly with a nod, turning back to see some elk coming into the clearing.

• The two hunted in peace that night not a word spoken between the two of them.

• "Why the long hair?" Simon ask, noticing the lack of haircut from his boy in the last few months. Johnny shrugs and signs 'Growing it out, Going to see if I like it'

• Never cuts it again- Much to Simon's annoyance

• When Johnny goes to University for Aero Space Engineering he almost cries- while he understands absolutely nothing his boy is saying to him when talking about his homework

615 notes · View notes

gummyfang · 1 year

Text

♡♡♡ | ˗ˏˋ TOO CLOSE FOR COMFORT ´ˎ˗

➳　【 S i m o n　‘G h o s t’　R i l e y　ｘ　Ｒｅａｄｅｒ】

❧ Warnings: 𝟏𝟖+, 𝐦𝐢𝐧𝐨𝐫𝐬 𝐝𝐨 𝐧𝐨𝐭 𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭, 𝐧𝐬𝐟𝐰, 𝐚𝐟𝐚𝐛 / 𝐠𝐧 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫, 𝐩 𝐢𝐧 𝐯, 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐩𝐨𝐬𝐬𝐞𝐬𝐬𝐢𝐯𝐞 𝐠𝐡𝐨𝐬𝐭, 𝐮𝐧𝐩𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐞𝐝 𝐬𝐞𝐱, 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐚𝐠𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐬𝐭 𝐚 𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐥, 𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐦𝐩𝐢𝐞, 𝐝𝐢𝐫𝐭𝐲 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤

[ 𝟑.𝟒𝐤 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 ]

[ REQUEST BY ANON ] On my knees and requesting respectfully a jealous Ghost fic cos I just wanna be manhandled by that giant behemoth of a man. Just throw me against the wall and break my back daddy 💦😭

𝐍𝐨𝐭𝐞𝐬: sneef sneef i actually interp him as a v soft dom or sub but i cant say im not a rough ghost enjoyer on occasion. also this is not a canon-compliant fic don’t come at me im just here for a good time. ft keegan bc i wanted to add him. this kinda sucks lol.

𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝 ♡

It wasn’t like you ever purposely set out to make Simon envious of the men you spoke with.

It was just that, as you’d learned, your Lieutenant was a lot more prone to envy than anyone could have predicted.

When the two of you had spent your first night together and officially gotten together, you and Simon had made the mutual decision to keep your relationship on the down low. Considering Simon was technically your superior at work, you two didn’t want to get into problems with your jobs due to a lack of professionalism.

That, and Simon was not a man who enjoyed attracting much social attention to himself anyways. He loathed the potential buzz that a new relationship on base would spark, and decided it would be better to announce somewhere later along the line.

This, however, came with one very obvious problem.

You were attractive.

Your good looks were not the issue by themselves. Simon could not deny he reveled in how handsome you were when you gave him one of your loving stares, and how pretty you looked beneath him when he fucked you stupid.

No, the problem was that your attractiveness did not go unnoticed to other men either.

All Simon could do was let the simmering sting of jealousy stew in his chest as he watched you talk to Keegan. You seemed to be blissfully unaware of the ways in which Keegan’s gaze lurked over your form, like a dog salivating at the sight of a steak. But Simon noticed. He sure as fucking hell noticed.

“Good job during training today. Your form is getting better.”

The flirtatious undertone of the compliment clearly went over your head, as you just chuckled and thanked him. Simon’s grip on his own crossed arms hardened considerably, earning him some nervous looks.

He was leering at the two of you with a thunderous gaze, the atmosphere practically rumbling with tension. It was starting to become apparent how much this bothered him, some of the soldiers sitting near him sharing concerned but equally confused glances.

If Simon was being honest with himself, he’d probably realize Keegan’s attraction wasn’t as predatory as he was making it out to be in his mind. You’d been friends with the man for months, and you’d been getting along with him very well long before you entered your relationship with Simon.

But the Lieutenant was not being honest with himself, and he couldn’t give less of a damn whether Keegan wanted to propose to you with flowers or just herd you into his bed. His attraction to you was clear as fucking day, and there was nothing Simon could do to stop it without drawing attention to your relationship status.

Lieutenant Ghost was a man of terrifyingly strong control.

And yet, he felt all that control slip from his iron grasp as he watched Keegan extend his hand as he laughed, his fingers intently tracing over your hip.

With that, his patience snapped like a tightly-strung rope. He rose to his feet with an aura so threatening it would make any hostile think twice before approaching him.

Keegan’s steel gaze turned icy as it moved from you to the Lieutenant’s hulking figure behind you. The corners of your mouth dropped slightly as you noticed the abrupt change in Keegan’s demeanor, before feeling the cold zipper of an open jacket brush against your neck. You turned around, faced with your boyfriend’s chest that was practically in your face right now.

“You are needed in my office.”

For a moment, you thought Ghost was talking to Keegan. It was only because he placed his hand firmly on your shoulder that you knew he was talking to you. The two men were locked in what appeared to be a staring match. You swallowed thickly as the tense, uncomfortable atmosphere became more noticeable to you, prickling at your skin.

Finally, it was Keegan who relented, his gaze moving down. “See you later then.” he said, voice devoid of the playful edge it was filled with earlier. He gave you and Ghost one last wary glance, before heading off to a group of people in the corner.

You watched him leave, slightly baffled, before feeling Simon’s iron grip pull you away.

You eyed him with confusion and slight annoyance. Simon, on the other hand, was staring straight ahead, refusing to look at you as he pushed you along. You had never seen him act like this.

“What’s all this about?!” you hissed in a hushed tone. “We’re being stared at!”

You didn’t receive a response. Whatever he had on his mind, he was too focused on it to pay you any mind right now.

Things became even more confusing when he headed straight past the door to his shared office, your brow furrowing even deeper now. “Lieutenant?” you tried, a hint of concern laced in your voice.

Suddenly, the grip on your shoulder moved down to grasp at your wrist instead, large hands clamping down around your flesh. It didn’t hurt, Simon always had the wits not to hurt you, but his grip was still unrelentingly tight. With his other hand, he unlocked the door to his private room, dragging you in with him.

Before you could question him any further, he’d ripped off his mask and hungrily sunken his lips against yours.

Your hands froze at your sides, too shocked to respond as his tongue aggressively pushed at your lips. Sighing out a quiet moan, you opened your mouth, met with the overwhelming feeling of Simon wrapping his tongue around yours.

Simon rumbled out a low groan as you finally started to regain control of your senses, your hands finding their way to the back of his neck. You held onto fistfuls of his hair, tugging at it lightly as his tongue danced with yours feverishly.

You managed to break away after a few minutes of his hurried and rough kisses, only for him to possessively start teething at your neck.

“Simon…” you mewled, head tipping back to grant him more access. You were so confused but god, you didn’t mind this. Simon was usually incredibly careful and gentle with you. This was new.

You grabbed onto his shoulders shakily, stabilizing yourself as Simon continued his merciless onslaught on your skin. You sucked in a breath when you felt him teeth at your neck, switching between feverish licks, harsh sucks and bites. You definitely knew that was going to bruise.

“Si, they’re- fuck- people are gonna see that!” you breathed out, tapping him on his side. “Good.” his deep voice rumbled in response, the first word he’d uttered to you since you left with him. His voice had an uncharacteristically dark edge to it, at least when it came to you. “Maybe that’ll keep those fuckers off of ya next time.”

Your eyes widened slightly. Oh.

It was only then that the quarter fell in your mind. Not once in the short month you’d been together had it occurred to you that Ghost was capable of jealousy, much less one to act on it.

Honestly, you felt a little bad for him. Not that you really could have done anything about it, the idea to keep your relationship hidden was Simon’s idea and mutually agreed upon. But you honestly hadn’t considered how it was possibly affecting him.

Still, you were pretty sure you knew how to make that up to him right now.

Besides, it wasn’t like you hadn’t imagined what it would be like if Simon fucked the living hell out of you before.

You hiked up one of your legs intently, hooking it around his as you hung off his body. You’d hike it up to his hip if you could, and you sure as hell tried, but God, were you reminded of how Simon easily towered above you in moments like this.

Nonetheless, he seemed pleasantly responsive to your advance. His hand found its way to the small of your back, fingers digging into your skin so harshly you were sure they would leave light flushed marks.

You could feel his prominent, rock-hard erection prod against your belly. Your hands slid down, fingers circling around his belt slowly and gently. Your fingernails dug themselves against his toned stomach, crescent-shaped marks glaring right above the place he wanted your hands most. Simon did not seem to reciprocate the slow, patient teasing you were trying to coax him into. You sucked in a sharp breath as you felt his thick thumbs roughly force their way past the waist of your pants, roughly tugging at the material. Then it stopped. You blinked, looking up at Simon, realizing he was staring straight back at you. He was a damn sight to behold. His balaclava had been roughly tugged down to pool around his neck, revealing those pretty swollen lips and that sexy stubble he usually kept obscured. You could see a dimly glistening trail of spit trailing down from the corner of his lip, undoubtedly due to the tilted angle he’d been ravaging your neck at. He didn’t move his hands, his head instead inching a little closer. “You can tell me to stop.” he responded in that gruff tone, lust dragging his voice down by at least an octave.

“You can tell me to stop, or that you don’t want this, and we can stop. But if you don’t-” His grip tightened on your trousers, the pull of the fabric drawing you in closer. “-I will have my way with you.” Fuck. Even when he wanted to do nothing but jump you and rail you until your legs gave out, he still waited for your word without fail. You felt a wave of arousal pool between your legs intensely, your clit throbbing gently at the dark promise rumbling in your ear. Your eyes were almost glazed over as you just stared back at him for a moment, puffy breaths seeping out through parted lips. “You may, please-” Your plea had only barely tumbled off your lips when Simon crashed his own on them again. Wasting no time getting down to business, those thumbs hooked around the waist of your pants were yanked down, taking the fabric down with them. Your underwear soon followed, all while his tongue was still firmly pressed against yours.

Simon wasn’t kidding when he said he’d have his way with you. You felt his large hands clamp around your sides like a vice, bending and molding you to his liking as if you were clay. His mouth began its second onslaught on your sensitive neck and shoulders, this time biting from the back.

You felt him twist you around, effortlessly as if you were a doll, his left hand leaving your waist to clamp around your wrists instead. You were at his mercy, and the thought made the slick sensation between your folds even more apparent.

It was as if Simon read your mind. The hand that had momentarily remained on your waist trailed down quickly, your shirt curling under his fingers as he kept them pressed tightly against your body.

Simon was a man who enjoyed taking his time with you, most of the times he’d have sex with you being preceded by extensive foreplay, but he was in no such mood right now.

His index and middle finger dipped down smoothly, squeezing your clit between them just perfectly. Your mouth opened in a quiet gasp as you instinctively pressed your body into his chest, though the grasp on your wrists ultimately held you in place firmly.

The pressure on your clit was rough, deliciously so. His movements were swift and controlled as he rubbed up and down just perfectly, fingers occasionally dipping down to prod at your entrance before sliding back up. “Simon, oh God, mmmf…”

You whimpered, your head leaning against his shoulder for any semblance of support. “‘S that good?” The bass of his voice rumbling in your ear made you shudder, swallowing thickly.

“Yeah, mm… Simon… Simon-” His name drifted off your lips in broken moans and whines, and the Lieutenant absolutely reveled in it. He was the only one who would ever get to hear you moan his name like this, only his name.

“Could anyone else touch you like this? God, you’re so fucking wet for me. All for me.” He growled possessively. This time when his hand slid down, they encircled your hole before plunging in fully without warning.

You whined quietly as you felt his thick digits curl against your g-spot expertly, filling you up nicely and leaving no room for small casual pleasantries. He plunged in harshly with a grunt, and you let out a loud moan. “Speak up.”

“Jus’ you. Only you, Si- God.” Your boyfriend kept ramming his digits into your cunt at a merciless rate, as your breaths started to come out in high-pitched whines and pants. He peered at you through the holes of his skull-shape mask still resting on his face. Simon reveled in watching you lose your composure and whimper like a bitch in heat for all the ways in which he could make you feel good.

“I can’t understand you when you sound like that.” Your glazed eyes snapped open, looking up at him as he looked at you darkly. Fuck, he was enjoying toying with you.

“You’re th’ only one. The only one. Nobody else. Nhh… Si… only one who can make me feel s’good…”

You were struggling to think straight, struggling to form a cohesive sentence as the loud squelching of Simon’s fingers abusing your pussy echoed off the walls. Your head lurched forwards with a loud breathy moan as he changed his angle, somehow hitting your G-spot even more precisely.

You looked back at him, lust clouding your vision as your voice lowered to a more devious tone.

“Keegan could never… make me feel like this…” Instantly, the movements inside you stopped, his fingers stilling inside of you and his other hand finally releasing your wrists. For a second, you thought you fucked up royally and actually hit a nerve.

This was not the case. Quite the opposite, in fact.

You heard aggressive rustling and the rumble of a zipper being undone. You tried looking back at him but gasped when you felt his hand clamp down on the back of your neck, torso pressed firmly against the wall.

His other hand quickly pulled out of you, instead roughly realigning your hips to be further back. The whimper humming softly in your throat suddenly burst out as a loud squeak as the feeling was soon replaced with that of his weeping tip prodding at your cunt, his erect cock pushing its way between your folds.

Simon roughly shoved his way inside, hand roughly keeping you from instinctively lurching forwards. His warm breath puffed against your ear with rumbling grunts as he pushed himself in deeper, until his pelvis was pressed snugly against your ass.

The man did not give you much time to adjust to his girth before starting to move. Not that you needed much time after the rough way in which he had prepared you with his fingers.

By now, the slick was generously coating your walls, lubricating your hot cunt enough for Simon’s cock to slip in and out effortlessly.

Your mouth fell agape, your cheeks flushed as you struggled to keep your wobbly legs from collapsing, Simon’s rough and fast thrusts throwing you off balance. But nothing slipped past Ghost, you soon remembered, as you felt his tattooed muscular arm clamp around your middle harshly to keep you stable.

You quickly lost control over your volume, whines and whimpers steadily turning into loud and broken. This was usually where Simon would shush you, shove his fingers into your mouth or kiss you. But not this time. “You’re so fucking loud… Fuck, you love this, don’t you?” he growled into your ear, adjusting his pace until he was brutally pistoning his dick into your cunt, his balls audibly smacking against your skin.

“God… you fit so fucking perfectly around this cock. Your pussy was made for this cock.” Simon was usually not one for dirty talk, the words leaving an odd and cringeworthy taste in his mouth after he’d say them. But he couldn’t stop himself, his brain just rolling out the word vomit to subject you to like an assembly line.

You sure as hell weren’t going to complain.

“Simon, fuck- Fuck! Please, just like that. I need- I need you.”

The consistency of his thrusts faltered at that, something that almost sounded like a whimper erupting from his throat.

A drop of sweat rolled down your forehead as your eyebrows scrunched together, starting to feel the familiar knot in your stomach tightening. Your boyfriend fingering you had already gotten you halfway there, and with the pace at which he was drilling into you you weren’t going to last much longer.

“C’mon, love. My name- let them know. They can all fucking know. Please. I need them to know who’s fucking you. Please…”

He groaned loudly as his hips stuttered, unable to resist you. Goddamn you. You could metaphorically get him to his knees even when he was fucking you against a wall like he wanted to wreck you.

You whimpered, tongue swiping over your lips before obliging him. “Simon- mmm, Simon…” You were hesitant, your boyfriend’s wishes upon establishing your relationship ringing in your mind. But the rough smack you got to your hip told you he couldn’t give less of a fuck right now. “Simon, fuck- God, Simon! Simon!” His name continued to tumble off your lips like a mantra, each thrust into your spongy cunt leaving you less able to think. He was the only thing on your mind, just Simon, only he could fuck you like this. Finally, the coil that had been building came undone accompanied by a loud scream of his name. Your pussy clenched harshly around him as you came on his cock. You were goddamn grateful Simon was holding you up right about now, as you were sure you would have sunken to the floor had it not been for his arm keeping you secure.

The feeling of you clenching around his dick finally sent Simon over the edge too. He let out the most delicious guttural groan as his movements stuttered for one final time, cock quivering before shooting his seed deep inside of you.

He continued to sloppily fuck his cum into you a few more times before his movements stilled completely, stabilizing himself against the wall with his hand. A silence fell over the two of you as you just took a moment to catch your breaths, Simon’s other hand rubbing over your stomach almost apologetically. It wasn’t an uncomfortable silence by any means, but it was also one filled with the realization that there was no way nobody had heard you.

It wasn’t going to be long before everyone knew who the Lieutenant had been fucking in his room.

“Si, I gotta- I gotta sit.” you finally broke the silence. He responded quickly, pulling out of you with a shaky breath before guiding you to his bed, helping you sit down as he took off his mask and placed it on his nightstand. He eyed your cunt, gently reaching down to half-heartedly shove some of his oozing cum back into your pussy. You whined softly, but didn’t have the energy to do anything else, instead just leaning against his chest. “You sure you don’t mind?” you whispered, fingers tracing the dark lines of his tattoo gently. Simon just grunted.

“It was bound to come out sooner or later.” he said gruffly. “I was growing real sick of it anyway. About time those shitbirds learned you’re spoken for.” You chuckled softly, wrapping an arm around his waist to sleepily tug him into a hug. “You found one hell of a way for them to find out, though. Fucking hell, Si.”

That earned you a gruff chuckle from your boyfriend, who started to guide you to lie down with him on the bed and pulled you tighter against his chest. His lips gently pressed to your forehead as you closed your eyes, the finger drawing figures on his arm slowly coming to a halt as you dozed off in his arms.

You’d both deal with the consequences of this in the morning.

Pinglist:

@rahmown (ty for being the first and only one so far <33)

#mdni #♡.nsfw #♡.mlw #simon ghost riley #simon ghost riley x reader #call of duty #call of duty x reader #cod #cod mwii #cod mw2 #cod modern warfare #jealousy #simon riley #gummyfang #ghost #ghost x reader

1K notes · View notes

incorrect-hs-quotes · 6 months

Text

ROSE: I recently found out why my mom would never sleep around me when I was a kid. Like, she'd never let herself take naps or sleep if I was awake, ever. Or, if she did, she'd lock her bedroom door.

ROSE: So. When I was six, I was asleep in my bed in the middle of the night when I heard a loud bang, like a pot being dropped. I came out to the living room to see my mom standing by the window, with... just, a huge pile of spaghetti all over the sill, and a pot on the ground. And I go,

ROSE: "Are you going to eat all that?"

ROSE: She gets MAD. Yells at me, chases me to my room. But then, a little while later, a bunch of cops show up and ask me a bunch of random ass questions about my art? Like, this one cop lady kept asking me to draw wizards for her. They seemed mad as hell.

ROSE: I didn't want to get arrested, so I just... never asked my mother for spaghetti after that. Lesson learned. Don't ask mom for spaghetti or she'll call the damn police on you.

ROSE: I have this memory in my head, and it goes unquestioned until I say it out loud for the first time a few months back, and as soon as I say the words, "When I was six, my mom called the cops on me for asking for spaghetti," my adult logic slams into place and goes, "Hang on. Your mother definitely did not call the police on a six year old asking for spaghetti."

ROSE: Obviously, that's not what really went down. I call up my mother to tell her how I remember it, and on top of her figuring out why her kid has always been really cagey around spaghetti for the last couple decades, she tells me what really happened.

ROSE: On that night, a man tried to break into our house through the front window. It was just my mother and I, so she did what she felt she had to do and shot him in the head. He'd been wearing a helmet, which landed on the floor under the window.

ROSE: Now. I just... want you to put yourselves in my mother's shoes for a minute, here. This woman has just taken a human life. The trauma of that--the instant agony, the panic, the guilt, the fear--all of it hitting her at once, her only solace the knowledge that her child is safe. She protected her daughter. No matter the cost to her soul, her child is safe.

ROSE: Then she looks up and sees her six-year-old staring at the inside of this man's head before saying,

ROSE: "Are you going to eat all that?"

DAVE: .........................what the fucking

DAVE: ok. you know how it is with spaghetti

#source: @nealashitposts #at this point im just going through the shit ive reblogged and mass quoting #there isnt anything in the inbox . post spaghetti rose story #homestuck #incorrect homestuck quotes #incorrect quotes #long quote #mod dave #rose lalonde #dave strider #mom lalonde

506 notes · View notes

we-stan-cale · 16 days

Text

Since I've talked about almost all the other important parts during my reread, I didn't want to forget the sealed god's test.

It's just... So good I'm not even sure where to start. Like, this is a moment where Cale really shines.

Cale. Rok Soo, which we're told means 'to always grow green, even in winter'.

And we see that in this test.

The sealed god throws him into one of the worst moments of his life, expressly to make him despair.

Instead, Cale takes that moment and uses it to rewrite the past, and erase all his regrets.

This is where we really get to see what post-apocalyptic Korea was like. And over and over again we learn how badly things went then, even as Cale makes sure it doesn't happen like that again.

We also see some of his years of experience, and maturity. Especially with how he handles Park Jin Tae, who was a bully and a tyrant - and also died in Cale's first life, fighting to save everyone in the shelter.

You can see what we've seen all along. Cale doesn't judge leaders by the petty stuff. He judges them on how well they take care of their people.

This is also where Cale, Choi Han, and Alberu really become an amazing trio.

Choi Han, who bargains a large chunk of his life away (just the time he'd be alone, as he ties the length of his life to Raons) in order to join Cale in his test.

And Alberu, who the Sun God helps possess a monster called the Dark Tiger when his real body is sleeping.

Those three are so tight knit now, it's beautiful. Real ride or die friends.

Especially when you remember where they all started.

It's also, as always, a time where you have to pay attention to the subtleties. This is Cale's past, and he's focused on making sure everyone survives... But Choi Han and especially Alberu can see the desperation, the struggle, and the near starvation of all the survivors. Alberu has a couple of moments when he's out of the test and giving updates to their friends, and you see him struggling. Because Cale asked him not to overly stress them (the kids especially) and basically say it's fine... And Alberu's like 'how can I tell them that?!?'

And then, naturally, there's Choi Jung Soo and Lee Soo Hyuk.

Younger versions, and not the ones Cale knew. But still, we get to learn more about his earlier found family.

We also see things going on back at home. Since his physical body is still there, his friends have to rescue him.

And we see how they're able to perform, even without Cale to call the shots.

We especially see how well Raon has grown, as he makes important decisions on how to find the monster statues.

Even more importantly, we have this at the end.

– Do you really think that this moment is the end of despair? Cale looked down at the rose gold lights burning in his hands. He opened his mouth to speak. ‘Is this moment the end of despair? No. Absolutely not.’ “This is just the beginning of the despair in this world.” It was just the beginning. Despair would reveal itself in many different forms in this world from now on. “But people have hope now.” After about a year since the world had turned into a mess… The people who had always lost, struggled, and barely managed to survive will be victorious for the first time. They would destroy this despair known as an unranked monster. The sealed god who had been silent for a moment asked as if he was sneering at Cale. – Do you have hope as well? It seemed to be implying that Cale was someone who could not have hope. That was how it sounded to Cale. Cale slowly shook his head. “No.” He did not have hope. However… “I have certainty.” Cale needed something more certain than hope. Finally, he had gotten it. “This place will draw a different future than my past. I’m certain of it.” He was certain that more people would survive than in his past. He was certain that they would have better lives. That was not speculation. Although it was a future that was yet to come, Cale believed it to be the truth. In fact, Cale wanted to be the one to finish the first step toward that certainty. The burning rose gold thunderbolts moved away from Cale’s hands. He started to speak again. “This is the first time I’m saying this to a god.” Toward the silent sealed god… To the god who had tried to give him despair… Cale said the following. “Thanks.” He really meant it. “My memories didn’t end in despair thanks to you.”

It's not that he defeated despair. That despair will no longer exist.

But there's hope, and he is certain that the future will be better.

And even more so - he is grateful that he had this chance to change his memories.

He took this thing that was supposed to break him, and used it to fix himself instead.

#tcf #lcf #cale henituse #trash of the count's family #lout of the count’s family #sealed god's test

210 notes · View notes